


The Temp Knows Best

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Donna fricking ships it, F/M, Gen, Pre-Episode: 2014 Xmas Last Christmas, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on tumblr: Twelve and Donna, otp or brotp, bonus points for adding Clara.</p><p>aka: the story where a canon version of Twelve and Donna bicker like siblings and the latter becomes Clara's bff</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Temp Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an AU where Donna never was Ten's companion, though it didn't cause any sort of catastrophe. Sorr

Clara was gone—she had her Mr. Pink and the Doctor lied his way back to the stars. He hadn’t found Gallifrey, as he had told her, but instead found nothing but a vast empty space in the middle of space.

Ha. Yeah. That was all he needed: _space_.

The Doctor tried popping about in the TARDIS, seeking out places and adventures that had nothing to do with Earth, though it didn’t really work. He kept on returning to the planet that should have been an insignificant thing to him. It had more importance as a dead lump of rock floating in the vastness of the universe, to be used as a military or cargo outpost or whatever the heck people kept on invading it for.

So he laid down in a London park, in some neighborhood he never really paid attention to the name of, staring up at the sky as storm clouds began to roll in. Kids were shouting as they played nearby, folks chattered about the Britishness of the oncoming weather, and no one really seemed to notice him. It wasn’t like there was anything to notice, anyhow…

“’Scuse me—you alright?”

Craning his neck, the Doctor saw there was a woman standing on the grass a few feet away, looking rather concerned about the stranger in the middle of her park. Fashionably business-casual, long red hair, and a mix of high-end costume jewelry and the real stuff… all while she clutched an open mobile in her hand.

“Not really, but not in the call-999 sense,” he muttered. He then turned his eyes back at the sky, which apparently was unacceptable to the woman, as she marched over to stand directly above him, folding her arms in irritation.

“It’s miserable enough down here without you bringing your Scottish doom and gloom along with you,” she frowned. One look-over of him and she was cringing outwardly. The Doctor braced himself to be reprimanded—an old man dressing in his state, right? That’s what the stares and whispers were usually about…

…except this time.

“Up,” she demanded. The way she commanded was overflowing with seriousness, so he complied. She then took his arm in hers and began to walk back towards the pavement. “You need a sandwich in you and a good talk—I can tell.”

“How…?!”

“I didn’t become the best temp in Chiswick by letting people and things fall apart all around me,” she scoffed. “Name’s Donna, by the way.”

“I’m the Doctor.”

“That’s it? Just ‘ _the Doctor_ ’?”

“It’s a long story…”

“…and I’ve got time. Temping at a place mornings-only does wonders for the social life. Come on—I’m hungry.”

Twenty minutes later, the Doctor found himself tucked away in a tiny café, a coffee and sandwich sitting in front of him and this Donna woman across the booth with her own meal. He had been very insistent against it, yet she sat him down and commanded him to not move from that spot until she gave the go-ahead. Not even an argument of grunts and syllables would persuade her, and so the Doctor sat, with a lunch date he sure as heck didn’t ask for, with a woman who was rather insistent on the matter.

“So,” Donna muttered through her sandwich, “spill.”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” he shrugged. “If I want a sandwich and coffee, I can get a sandwich and coffee…”

“Yeah, but I also know the look in those eyes,” she said. “It’s that look people get that make them seem two thousand years old, when they’ve got all the problems in the world and no one to sort them out with. So what was it? Fight with your kid? Fight with the wife? Sacked? Fight with the husband…?”

“I…” The Doctor tried avoiding looking directly at the woman, despite the fact she commanded said attention. Donna gestured at his sandwich and he caved, picking it up and taking a bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he tried to figure out how to say it without being an arse about it—this is something Clara would have done for him, so he at least owed her that much.

“We aren’t married… my friend… my very _dear_ friend… she… I lied to her so that she’d go away, thinking it would make her happy.”

“Well that’s sort of a selfish idea,” she frowned. “What’cha do? Make her go off with another man?” The Doctor glared at her from behind his coffee, eyebrows in full-on attack mode, and she snorted. “You did! Wow! What do you think your life is?! The cinema? A BAFTA-winning drama?”

“ _My life_ is none of your business, and if anything it’s some cheap joke with rubber-foreheaded aliens and cardboard sets.”

“Alright, you listen to Donna and you listen good,” the woman said. “You still know where to find her, yeah?”

“Yeah…?”

“Then after we finish lunch, we’ll hop on the bus and go see her, and then you’ll hopefully stop moping around like some lost puppy, because if it’s something I can’t stand, it’s full-grown adults moping around like they’re the Queen’s dogs not allowed to go on holiday with her. You got that?”

“…but…”

She pointed her sandwich at him. “You. G _ot. That?_ ”

Ah, humans: for all their tenacity and grit when it comes to great accomplishments and survival, it was such features that could be used against him in the end.

“I got it,” he exhaled in defeat.

* * *

“Uh, where are you going?” Donna wondered. She watched as the man she hoisted out of the park lawn crossed the street, headed in the complete opposite direction of the bus stop. “Don’t bail on me!”

“I’m not,” he scowled. The Doctor waited for Donna to catch up and continued walking, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. “I’ve got something better than a bus.”

“Uh-huh; you think I’m going to hop into a car with you and then never be heard of again?” she snorted. “I’m not _dense_.”

“No, just noisy,” he stated. Donna smacked his upper arm, completely insulted, while continuing to follow him down the pavement. Soon they were back in the park, headed towards a blue police box.

“Oi, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’ve got another thought coming if you think I’m that kind of woman!” she snapped.

“What kind of woman?”

“You know!” She gestured to his hand resting on the police box door, which only garnered an eye roll as he pushed his way in. Donna stood there, incredulous, and was completely mortified when the Doctor poked his head back out.

“I thought you were coming.” He disappeared again before she had the chance to reply. She then slammed open the door to the police box with all the fury she could muster, only to be dumbstruck at what she found.

 _It was bigger on the inside_.

“Wha…?” she sputtered. Donna crept inside and closed the door behind her, completely flabbergasted.

“I think now’s about the time I should tell you that I really am over two thousand years old, because I’m a space alien,” the Doctor smirked from over by the console. “A space alien with two hearts, a couple spare ribs, and has one bossy human woman telling him to go find another, slightly smaller, bossy human woman.”

“…whom you obviously left before she could teach you some manners,” she said, snapping out of her stupor. “Get on with it, spaceman! Let’s find your gal!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The Doctor threw the switch and the TARDIS lights flickered as the ship wheezed through the space-time continuum. Donna slowly spun around and examined the interior of the ship while it moved, curious and amazed and just slightly terrified (not that she’d ever give the Scots git the satisfaction of admitting it). Everything then stopped, which made her assume it was done, and she looked over at the alien.

“We there?”

“Yup. She should be rounding the corner right now after we…” He didn’t want to say it; he _couldn’t_ say it.

“Come on, Romeo—let’s get you your space-gal back.”

“You can’t just put ‘space’ in front of everything and think that’s okay,” the Doctor argued as Donna pushed him towards the door. She kept pushing as they exited into the street, despite his adamant protests. “Hey! You’ve convinced me! Now shove off!”

“The only shoving I’m gonna do is making sure you get shoved towards your girlfriend!”

The Doctor finally wiggled from her grasp, turning around with the crossest eyebrows he could manage. “I think I can figure things out from here!”

“Obviously you need moral support, because you’d be laying in the middle of a puddle of mud, drowning in rain, had I not found you! What is it with men and being so thick-headed?!”

“ _I_ would have drowned had you not found me?” he asked, insulted. “For your information: I have a highly advanced respiratory bypass system that makes it so that I _rarely_ drown! Bit of rain never harmed anyone, anyhow!”

“Lovely! Apparently no one’s ever shown you a history book while you’ve been here, ornery space-bloke.”

“Don’t you get sassy with me!”

“Oh, you just watch!”

“…Doctor…?”

With the argument crashing to a halt, the Doctor spun around to see Clara standing on the pavement, her eyes wide with… terror? Surprise? He couldn’t tell, but oh, she was _there_. His own eyes went wide and his brows lifted as he approached her cautiously.

“Clara…?”

“Doctor…? But I just saw you…”

“I just wanted to say Clara, that I was lying,” he admitted. “Missy didn’t give me the coordinates to Gallifrey, and if she did, they’re so old that it has long shifted out of place.”

“…but…”

“We can take Mr. Pink along, I don’t care, just… please… I’m sorry… _please_ …”

“Hint: never go into writing romance novels,” Donna snarked from behind Twelve’s shoulder. “Kiss her already.”

“Uh… Doctor? Who’s this?”

“This is Donna,” he mumbled, turning back to face the Chiswickian temp. “She convinced me to come back and—”

“Doctor, Danny’s still dead,” Clara interrupted quietly. He stared at her, mouth agape. “I lied too. I’m sorry.”

“Well isn’t that all _Gift of the Magi_ of you two; alright, now kiss and make up and we can get going.”

“Get going…?” the Doctor wondered. He felt a small tap on his shoulder and when he turned to look at Clara, she pecked him on the lips with a grin on her face.

“Wonders,” she said, “I think for knocking some sense into us, we owe Donna a trip to see some wonders.”

“Oh? What sort are you thinking of?” the other woman asked. She and Clara then began to walk towards the TARDIS together, leaving the Doctor alone on the pavement. “You got any of those single-environment planets in your repertoire? Maybe some wicked spaceports?”

“We can go back in time too, if you want… or forwards, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Time as well?! Gosh, then let’s get cracking!”

They entered the TARDIS and the Doctor found himself slowly dragging himself in afterwards. Now he had not only _one_ bossy humans, but _two_ bossy humans on the TARDIS with him, and something told him it was going to be more than he could handle.


End file.
